The Tooth Fairy Part 30

He looked at the Tooth Fairy sitting on his windowsill. She looked sad. Exhausted and miserable.

'In all the times I've given myself to you, how often have you been content just to have me? I lay down in your bed. Be Linda, you say. Be Alice. Be this one, be that one. You never want me to be me. And every time your need calls me, I come. I'm chained to you, Sam. I've told you before: you're my nightmare.'

'But if I'm your dream, where are you when you are awake? Where do you go?'

'That's just it. You won't give yourself to me. So you would never come to the place I go.'

'That's not true.'

The Tooth Fairy sat upright. She seemed suddenly to grow in strength. 'You would? You'd come with me? Now?'

'Yes. I would, yes.'

And the world inverted. And the world re-invented itself.

Sam found himself in Wistman's Woods. But they were changed. Instead of trees through which to wind a path, there were tree-shaped pillars of white light brilliant as a magnesium flare through which to walk, and the s.p.a.ce which should have existed between the trees was impenetrable. He could move by leaping from point-of-light to point-of-light. And the ferns, the unwalkable paths, the leaf-mould floor and the s.p.a.ce between the tree-shaped pillars were lilac and mauve. If he tried to step beyond the pillars of light, his way was barred and the colour rubbed off on to his skin until he too was lilac and mauve.

He felt a claw of anxiety in his bowels. He could sense the Tooth Fairy close by, but he couldn't see her. And his teeth felt weighty in his mouth. They felt like some strange metal wedged in his lilac gums, and when he touched his tongue to them, he knew they were sharpened to points.

At last he found her, illuminated within another tree-branched pillar of light. She smiled at him, and the dagger points were gone from her own mouth. She was radiant. He had never seen her looking so unambiguously beautiful. The clothes which had seemed so shabby in his world were now pristine and resplendent, strobing with iridescent threads. She beckoned him to follow.

They moved through the woods, springing from point-of-light to point-of-light. Then she stopped and, taking him by the hand, gestured at a strange flower growing from a broken bowl of light. The long-stemmed flower was trumpet-shaped and acid-white. Inside the trumpet of petals was a tuber-shaped stamen, the colour of a lilac shadow. On the anther of the stamen was some venomous-looking yellow dust. The Tooth Fairy reached over and grasped the lilac tuber, collecting the yellow dust on her forefinger. Looking at Sam, she put her fingers to her mouth, shyly licking them clean. She collected more on her hand, offering it to him.

He licked her fingers clean of the substance. It fizzed on his tongue, the Tooth Fairy c.o.c.ked her head to one side, delighted by his surprise. She collected more of the weird pollen for him, and again it effervesced in his mouth. This time he began to feel fumes ascending to his brain.

Laughing, the Tooth Fairy stepped out of her clothes. Taking coy steps towards him, she undressed him. Shaking more pollen from the flower, she smeared it across his chest and arms, and smoothed it on to his thighs. Then she inserted some of the stuff into her v.a.g.i.n.a. Sam felt himself becoming aroused, but as he did so his whole body became tumescent, as if his entire skin were engorging with blood.

The Tooth Fairy pressed her body to him. Her skin rippled with light, hot against his. 'Who do you want me to be?' he heard himself say. His voice sounded like a strange wind.

'Just be you.' Her nipples stood erect, like twin blades, and as she pressed herself to him, he felt them puncture the pumped-up skin of his own chest. There was a sudden release of pressure, and he panicked. He felt betrayed, and suddenly he was paralysed with fear. The blades of her nipples tore open his skin as she manoeuvred her b.r.e.a.s.t.s down the length of his torso. Late in realizing his terror, she stopped, looking gently into his eyes, her sweet face anxious to rea.s.sure him. The incisions stung, but only momentarily. Blood bubbled at the wounds, but only minimally. She continued to open up his skin from his breastbone, down the entire length of his trembling body, over his thighs, ending only at his toes.

When she'd finished, she proceeded to flay her own skin with her sharp fingernails. Then she stepped out of her skin, revealing a new but identical version of herself, softly luminescent, glowing dully and with virginal purity. Turning to him, she helped him out of his old skin as if it were a suit of clothes. In a state of shock, he complied. The epidermis underneath could hardly bear the whisper of a faint breeze, so sensitive was it. His new skin effervesced.

Then the Tooth Fairy kissed him a full-mouthed kiss; and with the deft steps of a ballerina, she climbed on him, slowly impaling herself on his stiff c.o.c.k. Inside she burned. The honey-like fire of her was overwhelming, unbearable, like a searing, sweet energy rampant in his brain. She bucked on him, urging him to thrust deeper into her, and he found they were rising slowly from the floor of the woods. Sam laughed uncontrollably, hysterically, demented with pleasure. At last he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed inside her. Some thousand-year-old longing within him came away like a pulled tooth.

'You gave,' she whispered in his ear, shuddering and weeping with joy. 'You gave.'

He lost consciousness.

When he came to he was lying naked on the carpet of his bedroom floor. He was weeping and his nose was sore from the crocodile clip of the Nightmare Interceptor. The alarm on the end of the wire was ringing. He had no recollection of attaching the thing to himself.

A couple of weeks before Clive and Sam were due to leave Redstone to take up their studies, Blythe announced that he'd arranged something special for a farewell night. Landlady Gladys was putting on sandwiches; staunch club supporters were exhorted to be there; even parents were invited to come along. 'We'll give you a good send off,' promised Blythe.

Come the night, a huge banner decked the back room of the Gate. Daubed in red paint, it said FAREWELL MOODIES. The banner had been painted and hoisted by Alice and Linda. The club was already full when Sam arrived. The beer flowed quickly, sandwiches were pa.s.sed around on huge ceramic plates and a couple of early floor singers paid tribute to 'the young boys and girls who really ran the club while Ian Blythe sat on his a.r.s.e and drank the profits'.

Not fair, said Blythe, pointing out in good part that he'd gone to a lot of trouble for once to get some decent musicians for the evening. And he had, in an Irish folk band called Deviltry, hugely respected on the circuit.

'Couldn't you get a blues band?' Clive said ungratefully.

Blythe only laughed and patted Clive's face before going to introduce the band.

Deviltry tore the place apart. With guitar, banjo, fiddle and a bodrhon they played spirited, fast-paced jigs and reels that kept the beer tap vibrating in time. Foaming pints of ale floated in on trays for Clive and Sam, to be consumed almost as fast as they appeared. Deviltry stopped for a beer-break of their own.

'You don't have to drink it just because it's there,' Connie said in Sam's ear.

'Mum! Glad you made it! Is Dad here?' Aunt Madge had been recruited into baby-sitting service to look after Sam's little sister. 'Have you met Ian Blythe?'

Sam left Blythe listening to his mother. 'I was just saying, he doesn't have to drink it just because it's there,' Sam heard her say as he moved off. He was looking for Alice. She'd been staying pretty close to Terry these days. He had things to say to her before he left.

'Your mother says to tell you,' said Alice, 'that you don't have to-'

'I know, I know.'

'Look at Linda!' Linda had joined Ian Blythe at the bar. Together they were giving a good listening to Connie's recommendations. Linda, flushed with drink, was leaning in on Blythe. 'Do you think those two are going to get together?'

'I think you're right,' said Sam. 'Have you noticed how he's cut down his drinking? He's trying to make a decent impression.'

'I need to talk to you,' said Alice.

'Sure.'

'Outside.'

Long before they reached the beer garden Sam had a flat feeling it was not going to be what he wanted to hear.

'I wanted to tell you,' she said. 'Terry and me. We're planning to go away together. To travel. To Greece or India, or somewhere like that.'

Sam looked down. Already a dew had formed on the gra.s.s. 'You chose Terry. Somehow I always thought you might.'

'You're not upset, are you? He's worried you might be upset.'

'Part of me is upset, disappointed. Part of me is pleased for you and Terry.'

'I still care for you. We both do.'

'Can we go back inside now?'

'You are upset.'

'Don't torture me with it, Alice!'

The band started up again inside, and Alice kissed him pa.s.sionately on the mouth. Then she led him back inside by the hand. Sam avoided Terry and made for the beer. Clive meanwhile seemed to be drinking himself into a stupor.

Sam downed another pint and wiped a moustache of foam from his lip. The fiddler fiddled a high-pitched reel; the pace of the war-drum hotted. The music tricked his heart into missing a beat. Then the fiddle hit a high, skirling note that had him wincing with pleasure. The combination of infused ale and the reeling, squealing fiddle stung his blood and set up a tickling in the back of his brain.

Someone near the band started jigging in the small s.p.a.ce between the band and the forward row of tables. In moments half of the audience was up on its feet, swinging back and forth in an ecstatic jig. A braceleted arm reached out and grabbed him; his beer slopped as he was dragged into the dancers. It was Linda. He managed to aim his gla.s.s into a pa.s.sing hand as she swung him round, both locked at the crook of elbow. When she released him he catapulted across the floor, only to be borne up by Ian Blythe, clenched again by the crook of his elbow.

Gladys Noon was exhorting all the dancers to stop. 'I haven't got a licence for dancing!' she protested, a remark which for some reason everyone found hilarious. Ian Blythe released Sam and swung up with the landlady, who stopped complaining and joined in, throwing her free hand into the air. Sam was dizzy. He gazed across the seething heads of the dancers. Either he was hallucinating or a heat haze was rising from the throng. Alice jigged with Terry, and Linda reeled with Clive. His mother danced with Betty Rogers and Nev was kicking up his heels with Terry's Aunt Dot. Shaking his head, Sam battled to the bar and ordered another pint. The fiddle squealed and dipped, and the sweet sting of music braced his blood. He took a mighty gulp of beer and rejoined the fray.

He was flung from one jigging partner to another, ale swimming in his head. Alice linked arms with him, eyes sparkling, hair sticking to the side of her face. She released him, and he sailed free to find his arm picked up by his mother. Nev's face ballooned by; and Clive's sweating, drunken features; then he was swung by Terry's good arm; and by Linda; and then out of the crowd loomed the Tooth Fairy, jigging, grinning, locking him at the elbow. 'See you later,' she whispered in his ear.

He stopped, releasing himself, stepping out of the unruly crowd of dancers. The Tooth Fairy had gone again.

Faces swung back and forth, swollen-lipped, bulbous faces, puce, perspiring and distorted in the amber light of the pub. He remembered stumbling into a table full of gla.s.ses, hearing them crash, before all sound became a dull roar in his ears.

When he came to, he was sitting in the beer garden outside. Alice was loosening his collar. Terry and Clive were propping him upright.

'Deep Mood,' said Sam.

'Come on,' said Terry, hoisting Sam to his feet. 'Let's walk it off. You two go back inside.'

'You sure?' said Alice.

'Yeah. Let me and Sam walk it off.'

So with Terry supporting him, Sam lurched away from the pub. Terry led him on a circuit down the lane and behind the houses. Sam stopped to p.i.s.s in the bushes.

He looked up at the night sky. 'Stars are brilliant,' he shouted. Terry said nothing. 'Hey! You don't mind leaving Clive and Alice together?'

'Nope. I wanted her to have a word with Clive. Like she's had a word with you.' Terry was poker-faced, his clear eyes piercing.

'f.u.c.k you. I love that Alice.'

'We all do. Funny, isn't it? So now you hate me, do you?'

'Yes. No. Oh, I dunno.' Sam squatted in the lip of the ditch at the side of the road and fumbled for a cigarette. Terry kneeled beside him, offering a light. 'Terry, don't you feel like we're on a long, strange journey?'

'Getting stranger all the time.'

Sam let out a plume of smoke. 'No, I can't hate you, even though I've tried. I'm just so jealous, I could cry. Nothing goes right for me.'

'For you? Nothing goes right for you?' Terry's eyelashes started fluttering, the way they always did when a certain thought crossed his mind. Then the fluttering stopped, and Terry was wide-eyed and angry. He was on his feet, and he was raging. 'A pike bit off half my foot. Then my father blew my mother's head off. Then the twins'. Then he blew his own head off. Then I blew my hand off. And you say nothing goes right! Sam, I've lost things all my life, and now my number's come up for once. Don't begrudge me Alice!'

Sam stared in astonishment at his friend. It was the first time Terry had made open reference to any of these incidents. It left Sam speechless.

Terry was still quivering with rage. 'And now I'm losing you and Clive!' he said bitterly.

'You're not losing us.'

'Yes, I am. Have you noticed something about this place? They took away the brightest and the best and the most beautiful. They took Linda away, didn't they? And now they-'

'Don't-'

Terry cut him short. 'Hear me out. This is our last night together, and I want to say this, whatever you think. You and Clive are going away to college. I'll see you from time to time, and after a year or two you'll start coming back with some big words and some new ideas, and if I'm lucky, no, if I'm very lucky, you two won't look down your noses at me and-'

'Terry!'

'-you might not look down your noses at me and we might talk about the old days, but things will be different between us for ever. I know this. All my life I've had to get used to things falling away from me. Life is not something you can keep in your hand. You have to get used to losing things. It's the one thing I know everything about. And now I'm losing you, and all I ask is you remember this conversation.'

Now Sam couldn't look Terry in the eye. He pretended to look up at the stars. 'Oh, s.h.i.t, Terry.'

'Don't cry, man. It's only the booze. I'm just trying to keep a bit of you, that's all. Oh, b.o.l.l.o.c.ks.' He got up and yanked Sam to his feet. 'Let's get back before they finish. There's a lot of people want to say goodbye to you.'

They trooped back to the pub in silence. Deviltry were still whipping up a storm in the back room, and the dancing showed no signs of exhausting itself. 'Don't start drinking again,' was Terry's parting shot as he left in search of Alice. Instantly someone clapped Sam on the back and pressed a gla.s.s of whisky into his hands.

'Down the hatch,' said Sam, to no one in particular. Then the landlady jigged by. She thrust her hand in the air and waggled her head inconsequentially.

A lattice of cool fingers spread themselves across his cheek. 'Are we going to see each other in London when you go to college?' It was Linda.

'Of course. I mean, you're going back there?'

'Sure. I can start again. I'll do it differently this time. G.o.d, Sam, to think I used to take you three to school.'

The lights flashed on and off. 'Last orders. Let me get you one, Linda.'

The band played an encore. There was raucous applause. Finally Gladys Noon got people to leave. Sam's mother wanted to walk him home, but he declined. Too drunk to be useful, he hung around while the band were paid and their equipment was carried outside. He watched them roar away in their van. Alice and Terry, Linda and Ian Blythe all offered to walk him home but he resisted. He didn't want to go home. His mind was spinning; he wasn't ready for his bed. The others left together, and he walked back from the pub with an equally inebriated Clive, the pair almost leaning together to remain upright. A light shower of rain was falling. Clive stopped to rummage in his pocket. He produced a squashed, fish-tailed ready-rolled cigarette.

'One for the road?'

A gust of wind blew the rain in their faces. Sam had an idea where they could go. 'Come on.'

He led Clive to the place where Terry had once lived in a caravan. The cottage was in darkness, as was the driveway. Clive followed blindly. When they reached Morris's old garage-workshop, Sam told Clive to wait. He forced his way down the side and entered by the rickety window. He unlocked a side door to admit Clive.

'You been here recently?'

'Some time ago.'

They sat on the floor in the dark, and Sam offered a flame from his Zippo lighter. The place was as quiet as the dust. For some time there was only the sound of rain on the roof, of sucking on the lighted joint and of the exhaling of lungfuls of smoke.

Sam broke the silence. 'Deep Mood. All those years ago. You painted the walls, Clive.'

Clive snorted. 'So what. How did you know?'

'Paint pot in your garden,' slurred Sam. 'You put it there, so's everyone would think it too obvious to be you. You wanted us to think Alice had planted it on you. Y'out-smarted yourself. Always trying to be one chess move ahead.'

' 'Strue,' said Clive. ' 'Strue. I overestimated everyone's dumbness.'

'You pretended to be furious with Alice. As if she'd st.i.tched you up.' Sam saw that Clive was dozing. 'You were hiding your true feelings.'

'Let's keep off Memory Lane, shall we?'

A fresh gust of wind swept rain across the leaking roof of the old garage. Something breathed sourly in the dark, and Sam stiffened. Reaching for his Zippo lighter, he spun the milled wheel and the tiny explosion of light chased the blackness back a few feet. There was Clive, sack-like, hunkered against the cold wall, his eyes closed. The handcrafted cigarette, still clenched between his knuckles, had gone out. The puttering lighter illumined the immature peach-fuzz moustache lining Clive's upper lip. Sam advanced the flame dangerously close to his friend's weak moustache, and Clive, opening his eyes in time to see the flame coming, interpreted it as an invitation to relight his cigarette.

'You fell asleep,' Sam slurred. 'You're drunk.'

Clive smacked his lips, trying to moisten a furred mouth. He looked about uneasily. 'I don't like this place. I never did. Why did you make us come here?'

'She's had us all you know. One way or another.'